Moat Cailin

[Ollie]

Moat Cailin is the ancient stronghold the First Men, built in the northern most marshes of the Neck. Immense blocks of black basalt, each as large as a crofter's cottage, had made up the old curtain wall. They lay scattered and strewn, half-sunk in the soft boggy soil, as if knocked apart by a giant. The wooden keep is gone as well, rotted away thousands of years past, with not so much as a timber to mark where it had once stood. All that was left of the great stronghold of the First Men were three towers out of the twenty that had once been:

The Gatehouse Tower is the sturdiest of the three, boasting a few feet of standing wall to either side.

The Drunkard's Tower, aptly named due to its crooked nature, stands off in the bog where the south and west walls had once met.

The third is the tall, slender Children's Tower, where legend say the children of the forest had once called upon their nameless gods to send the hammer of the waters. The tower had lost most of the merlons across its crenellation, rubble strewn across the bog below.

All three towers are green with moss. A tree is growing out between the stones on the north side of the Gatehouse Tower, ropy white blankets of ghostskin dangling from its gnarled limbs.

[Ollie]

A group of carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths, and laborers sent by Roose Stark begin work on the rebuilding of Moat Cailin. Their sights are first set by the foremen assigned by Olander Reed on the renovation and repair of the Children's, Gatehouse, and Drunkard's tower

[Ollie]

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Tregar Reed and Lothar Marsh both leave the defenders at Moat Cailin and travel north to link up with their kin, Olander Reed. The defense of Moat Cailin is placed in the hands of the Lord Jolard Moss.

[Ollie]

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In mid-January of the year 527, the reconstruction of Moat Cailin is completed.

The three crumbling remnants of the 20 that once stood are rebuilt and fortified. From each flies the black lizard-lion on green-grey above a new banner, a white heart tree with red face and leaves, on a green-grey bend sinister over a black background.

The giant blocks that were once left sinking into the soft earth around the ruins of Moat Cailin from sieges and battles past were salvaged and put back in place to reform the massive black basalt curtain wall stretching wide between the towers.

Within the mighty walls, a great keep was raised, not of wood like it's rotted predecessor, but of black stone, rising to meet the challenge presented by the walls and towers surrounding it. Several other wooden structures fill the yard around it, branching out from the main keep into a blacksmithy, an armory, and a rather lonely looking stable, to name a few.

In the center of the yard stood three tiny weirwoods. Just saplings yet, but one day would grow tall and proud to watch over the men beneath them. One stood to the north-east, it's face looking that direction, weeping sorrowfully with tears in the form of hardened red sap. The second stood to the north-west, the face glowering in that direction with a grim slash of a scowl.
The third stood to the south, with mirthful eyes looking out over the swamps of the neck, laughing.

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

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Meraxes Frey is the first to arrive, despite not even living in the North. Still, his curiosity drives him to witness the monolith himself, especially the famous towers.

A pair of cold-eyed riders and himself wait along beside the famous moat. The hunchback wonders how amusing it would be to talk someone into leaping into the moat and cause a commotion.... he'd probably have to pay them though...

[Ser Aemon Tully]

Suenter arrives behind the Frey and makes camp behind the stables.

[Ollie]

Several crannogmen peer out at the disfigured southroner atop the massive curtain wall for a long moment, before disappearing within. The gates crack open, and a young, sunken cheeked youth with a silken pale-purple cape marches out with a scowl, accompanied by half a dozen soldiers.

"Who be you?" he called, stopping twenty or so yards away. "What business do you have here?

[Ollie]

As the lords, ladies, and other assorted wellborn begin to arrive, they are shown into the massive walled castle. Inside, they find it colorfully decorated with all the banners of the Northern Houses, be they great or small. Highborn guests are given comfortable quarters in the central keep or high in the three towers, and whatever retinue accompanying are given rooms in the lower levels of the towers.

Once each of the Northern lords have arrived, a ceremony will be held in the courtyard of Moat Cailin, beneath the three weirwood heart trees. A speech will be given by their liege lord, Roose Stark, concerning the matters to be discussed after the feast. Following that, a prayer will be lead by the lord of castle, Olander Reed, to the honor of the Old Gods for the men lost in the south. After the ceremony is complete the guests will be shown into the great hall and the feast will commence.

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After a long march of the south, Roose Stark, Edmure Karstark, and Olander Reed finally arrive at Moat Cailin.

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

He grins at the young man from his horse as he gives no answer and rides to meet the approaching lords. "My graces! I thought I'd see how the pet project might work out... After all, I understand I have relatives interred here. Must pay my respects and all that womanly stuff." Which wasn't entirely a lie... he had earlier urinated in the moat and in the mind of Meraxes, that was remembrance enough.

[Ollie]

A number of the lords give the twisted cretin a look of abhorrence, though if they were directed at his mere presence or specifically his hideous hunchback was unsure.

The purple-caped crannogman strode to intercept the Frey, now accompanied by ten guards brandishing spears. "Halt! You will come no further until you name your presence here!"

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

He rolled his eyes, "I am Meraxes Frey of the Crossing. I am a student of architecture, a child of the Old Gods, and a man concerning business with kin. I also hold 5000 soldiers a mere day's march from here, if your frailer sympathies do not take hold of you." He tsked one of his riders for putting his hand on his blade before continuing. " As a fellow of the nearest Southron house, I feel there is no harm in paying homage to my neighbors. Also, my own Lord Paramount should be arriving soon and I have certain hushhush 'Riverlords only' business with him."

[Ollie]

A few of the guards muttered under their breath, but ultimately said nothing, still holding their spears at the ready.

"A child of the Old Gods?" Yorlan Fenn scoffed, swishing his purple great cape behind his left shoulder. "I seriously doubt that, Frey. Also, if you're the architect you claim to be, you'd already know that 5,000 men could never break Moat Cailin, so take your empty threats elsewhere."

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

He leaned forward with a smile like rampant sin. "You make the mistake of assuming that the Freys, being a Southron house, would strike from the South. All I need to do is burn your marsh, use the smoke as cover, then strike from the North. Perhaps you might even be drawn out, what with the choking vapors. As for transporting my troops... we have ships for shuttling through the Bite. Besides, if it was impervious, you wouldn't have to repair it, now would you?" He yawned most rudely. "Now I'm going to cross that gate and find someone with a brain. You can kill me and cause an uproar for slaying an unarmed noble, if you like. I'll be sure to leave my bodyguards here just to make it extra controversial." Then he nonchalantly galloped towards the fortress without a care in the world.

[Ollie]

The gate was simply closed. Spearmen and archers atop the walls peer down at the arrogant Riverlander and his men, and make no move to grant him entrance.

Burn the marsh? Is he stupid? Yorlan reflected with a laugh as he and guards moved to trap the Frey between them and the gate. Not that we'd ever let him get close enough to try it in the first place.

"Unarmed? I see two blades, right there, Frey," he said, gesturing to his guards. "In any case, sounds to me like you're plotting to invade, and you're here to spy or sabotage us, what with all this inane blather of burning a swamp and sailing troops into the North."

The young Fenn's voice dropped, to something more stern, more cold. "This is your last warning. You will turn around and ride out of the Neck, or we will take you."

[Lord Gaspard Yronwood]

"I either stop attempting to enter or you will take me inside?" He feinted shock. "You wouldn't dare! Besides, lummox, it isn't your decision."